Ghibli trend: OpenAI’s Sam Altman responds to Hayao Miyazaki’s “insult to life” remark
OpenAI's CEO Sam Altman breaks his silence on the viral Ghibli trend and Hayao Miyazaki's "insult to life itself" remark.
Ghibli’s magic isn’t a template
The Tale of the Princess Kaguya
Delicate hand-drawn faces, dreamy pastel landscapes and an overwhelming sense of warmth that feels like a gentle hug for your soul—this is the unmistakable charm of Studio Ghibli films. The Japanese animation powerhouse has mastered the art of crafting worlds so enchanting that simply glancing at the screen feels like stepping into a bedtime story laced with nostalgia and magic— whether it’s the golden glow of a sun-drenched field, the misty blues of a sleepy village or marvelling at the mystical beings in the forest.
But there’s more to Ghibli than just charm and cuteness. Not every frame is designed to lift your spirits—some carry emotions so raw and heartbreaking that revisiting the film feels like a challenge. Haunted eyes brimming with sorrow, fragile innocence against an unravelling world—Ghibli captures a depth of feeling no algorithm can truly comprehend because machines don’t feel.
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And yet, the internet is now awash with so-called “Ghiblified” images—AI-generated pictures that mimic the studio’s signature aesthetic but lack the soul behind it. A mere template cannot replicate the essence of Ghibli’s storytelling, no matter how much it may resemble the universe it tries to imitate.
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Studio Ghibli was founded in 1985 by animators Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata, along with producer Toshio Suzuki. The studio’s name, “Ghibli”, is derived from the Italian word for a hot dust-bearing wind blowing through the North African desert. Miyazaki, who chose the name, believed that it would “blow new wind through the anime industry”.
Studio Ghibli has produced numerous acclaimed films that have captivated audiences worldwide. Here are a few notable examples:
Grave of the Fireflies: Directed by Isao Takahata, this film follows two siblings struggling to survive in wartime Japan. Renowned for its emotional depth and anti-war message, it remains one of Studio Ghibli’s most powerful works.
My Neighbor Totoro: Directed by Hayao Miyazaki, this beloved film tells the story of two young sisters who encounter friendly forest spirits in post-war rural Japan. Totoro, the iconic creature from the film, has become the mascot for Studio Ghibli and is recognised as one of the most popular characters in Japanese animation.
Spirited Away: Also directed by Hayao Miyazaki, this Academy Award-winning film follows a young girl who becomes trapped in a mysterious and magical world of spirits. Spirited Away held the record for the highest-grossing film in Japan for 19 years and is celebrated for its imaginative storytelling and rich animation.
The Tale of the Princess Kaguya: Directed by Isao Takahata, this visually stunning film is based on the classic Japanese folktale The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. The story follows a tiny girl found inside a glowing bamboo stalk who grows into a beautiful princess with an ethereal presence. As she navigates the expectations of noble life, the film explores themes of freedom, identity and the fleeting nature of happiness.
Unlike traditional Ghibli films, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya employs a hand-painted watercolour style that gives it the appearance of a moving picture scroll. This unique aesthetic, combined with its deeply emotional narrative, earned the film critical acclaim and an Academy Award nomination for Best Animated Feature.
This highlights a crucial truth—there is no fixed template for a Studio Ghibli film. Each movie is a distinct work of art, painstakingly crafted by hand, with every frame infused with the unique vision of its creator. The emotions conveyed through a character’s expressions, the ambiance of a scene and even the subtle interplay of light and shadow are all deliberate artistic choices. The so-called “Ghibli aesthetic” that artificial intelligence attempts to replicate is not a formula but the result of human intuition, experience and creative intent.
The rise of AI-generated “Ghiblified” images has sparked debates over the future of art, with some arguing that AI can do anything and that artists may become obsolete. However, this assumption overlooks a fundamental limitation—AI does not create; it imitates. It lacks independent thought, emotional depth and the ability to invent something truly original. AI functions as a tool, responding to inputs rather than producing work from a place of inspiration or lived experience. While it can almost mimic existing styles, it cannot birth a new artistic movement, develop a fresh visual language or imbue its work with the intangible human essence that makes art so profoundly moving.
Back in 2016, Hayao Miyazaki made his stance on AI-generated imagery and videos crystal clear—he had nothing but disdain for them. “I can’t watch this stuff and find it interesting. The people creating it have no understanding of pain whatsoever. I am utterly disgusted. If you want to make creepy things, go ahead, but I have no desire to incorporate this technology into my work,” he stated in an interview. He went even further, expressing his deep philosophical opposition to AI-generated art, declaring, “I strongly feel that this is an insult to life itself.”
AI may be capable of generating visually striking images, but what it fundamentally lacks is the essence of true artistry—original vision, emotional depth and the ability to tell a story with intent. A human artist infuses their work with personal experiences, emotions and philosophical insights, creating something that resonates on a deeply individual level. AI, on the other hand, is merely an aggregator, a mimic that blends pre-existing influences to produce something superficially appealing but inherently hollow.
Beyond its artistic shortcomings, AI-generated imagery is often riddled with glaring inconsistencies—extra limbs sprouting from nowhere, bizarrely placed accessories and distorted anatomy that breaks the illusion of authenticity. AI does not understand what it creates; it simply stitches together pixels in a way that mimics coherence. And the dangers go beyond mere artistic integrity—once you upload a personal photograph into an AI system, it is no longer truly yours. Your digital identity is now in the hands of algorithms, with no guarantee of security. That image can be altered, reused and manipulated in ways you never consented to, making AI-generated art not just an ethical dilemma but a privacy risk as well.
Art is not just about aesthetics; it is deeply subjective and layered with meaning. What one person finds beautiful, another might dismiss, and therein lies the magic of human creativity—it is unpredictable, nuanced and shaped by lived experience. AI-generated art, however, often requires human intervention—curation, modification and refinement—to have any semblance of real artistic intent. Mass-producing art in an artist’s style through AI is not just lazy; it is a blatant insult. It disregards the years of dedication, toil and thought that go into creating something original. Stripping an artist’s work of its essence and replicating it endlessly is not just petty theft—it is a violation of their intellectual property, a digital-age form of plagiarism dressed up as innovation. Ghibli films endure not because they follow a rigid formula but because they capture something deeply human—something an algorithm, no matter how advanced, can never truly replicate.
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